Thanksgiving
by Madame Hausfrau
Summary: Two months after 'Consectato', everyone regroups to reflect on what's really important.
1. Departure

**Title**:  Thanksgiving

**Author**:  Madame Hausfrau

**Rating**:  PG-13  

**Legal**:  'Witchblade' is the property of Top Cow and Warner Brothers Productions. 

**Summary**:  Two months after 'Consectato', everyone regroups to reflect on what's really important.        

**Note**:  This story heralds my debut into the addictive WB universe. **Any and all reviews are appreciated**. Since this is one of our main holidays for 2002, Kenneth Irons is around to enjoy the festivities. In the meantime, I'll keep syntax errors to a minimum and figure out these posting procedures. Enjoy!  

Congrats to Will Y. Lee (Danny) who portrayed Col. Moon in '**_Die Another Day_**_'_.  The movie was awesome!

_______________________________________________________________________________

Ian Nottingham was instantly awake.  Bleary-eyed and disgusted, he let his cell phone ring for as long as he

dared,  knowing who it was and dreading it.  He knew Irons detested waiting but Ian was way past caring.  

After pulling a twenty-hour shift, all he craved was sleep, preferably uninterrupted.

Emitting an irritated grunt, he flipped onto his back and spoke into his offending STARTAC.  

"Yes, Sir", Ian modulated.  

"Good morning, Ian.  I trust you rested well after your exceptional work yesterday.  Prepare the jet, for I've received a most delightful invitation to holiday with friends in Austria for a weeks' time."

……_You have friends?!_  Ian sarcastically mused while Irons elaborated the particulars.  

   "Make the usual travel arrangements while I pack a few items.  Pending weather restrictions, I expect to be airborne by noon.  Contact me immediately upon flight clearance, and Ian,"…..Irons quipped,

"Sir",…..

"I've decided to let you remain behind.  Maintain surveillance on our fair Sara and  report in daily."

Ian met the abrupt dial tone with an internal beatific smile.  The need for sleep suddenly cast away, he rolled out of bed, settling into slow careful stretches; although abbreviated, the exercise allowed him to mentally prepare his 

day- hell, his week, for an euphoric fifteen minutes. 

Not having fallen off the turnip truck, Ian realized his own actions would most likely be monitored during Kenneth's absence.  Analyzing all scenarios, Ian resolved to rest and relax but remain alert for the usual suspects: i.e. hidden cameras, recorders, bugs, etc.  . Ian wished his personal space secure- if only for a precious week.  With one final lunge he headed for the shower.  Fifteen minutes later, his PC hummed with life while several calls were placed and reservations confirmed.  Printing Irons' final travel itinerary was a snap; in fact, any task hastening the man's departure to areas of considerable distance, especially overseas, was performed with whoop-ass gusto.  

****************

 At 6:00 a.m., Ian decided to catnap while awaiting word from Vorshlag's pilot.  He was one hour in before his cell rang again.

"Yes, Sir?" Ian inquired.

….."Hello, Ian.  I'm pleased that your tone is civilly polite.  That's good.  Your schedule permitting, I'd like to meet with you this afternoon…..say 2:00 p.m. @ the usual place.  Thanks for your time.  G'bye."

Ian's thoughts drifted to and fro_…"Not to worry my friend, I'll  be there…..I'll definitely be there." _

With that, Ian again drifted off, to a place where all was right in the world and Sara was once again his…….  

*******************

11:30 a.m., met Ian following behind an immaculately tailored Kenneth Irons as the pair traveled deep within 

the bowels of the secluded corporate jet entrances of  LaGuardia airport.  Passing through obligatory security

checkpoints and onto the tarmac, both men were grateful for their dark wool overcoats; unstated but welcome

 respites from the bitter winds that grace  New York winters without fail.      

"Young Nottingham," Irons said, glancing at his ever-present pocket watch, "proceed with your back brief." 

"Sir," Ian began, snapping to parade-rest, mentally verbalizing Irons' 'to-do-list' much to the generator's

complete satisfaction,  noting all the while, the familiar  pieces of luggage being placed deep within the cargo hold.    

"Excellent work, Ian," Irons beamed.  "I shall see you within a weeks' time, and remember, Ian,…..

Nottingham regarded Kenneth with a glance, "Sir?"

"Full disclosure, Ian,  full disclosure. The elder man grazed Ian with a no-nonsense look.

Nottingham raised his head even higher to give Kenneth an answer of his own, a mental '_Whatever!'……….  _

"Understood, sir.  Have a safe and enjoyable stay……..until 3 December, then?"

"Until then, Ian."  Irons said smiling and hugged Ian affectionately.  "Thank you."  With that exchange, Kenneth

 turned and headed toward his plane.  Upon boarding and settling in, He was met with his usual wait staff. 

 "A drink, Mr. Irons?" Kenneth glanced up from his paper into the blue eyes of Svetlana, his professional, 

ever-efficient favorite.   "Yes, please.  I'll have the **_Regaleali Merlot_**."   Nodding curtly, she left his view.         

Still on the tarmac, Nottingham regarded the plane as it began to taxi down the runway.  With a sigh, Ian replayed

 the events of the last few moments:  '_What gives, Father?  There are endless days, hours and minutes when_

_ I literally  can't stand the sight of you - then you haul off and do something nice._

_  I've always  craved your approval, your acceptance, your ……love.  Such rare moments!  _

_However, I know I'm just a means to an end.  Your creative cruelties and continued  efforts to control………_

_Enough!…  It's 26 November and I have a week- one week to be!  During these few days, I will reflect _

and thank, and be thankful for all I have...and have been given…for there are so many people out

_ there who are without means, support, help,  nor  the basics- of food, water and shelter………….'   _

***************

"Mr. Nottingham?……..Mr. Nottingham?"  Jared, one of Irons' personal drivers, took Ian from his reverie. 

"It seems Mr. Irons' left this envelope in the limo, should we contact the plane?" Jared ventured, taking off his 

cap momentarily to reveal neatly tapered salt & pepper hair atop a tall, swarthy, middle-aged physique.

On a whim, Ian took the bulky blank envelope, opened it, read the highly embellished note card and smiled wistfully. 

"No need.  It's just my 'work' bonus."  Deeming all traditional holidays, customs and observances as 'frivolous

 and unnecessary', Nottingham knew this was Irons' way of paying him for extra services rendered.

Reading the man's mind and noting his blank but crestfallen expression, Ian suddenly took half and gave an 

astonished Jared the remainder- along with a firm zip-lip gesture.  

A grateful Jared mimicked this gesture many times over, much to Ian's chagrin, before  heading back to 

1111 Faust Street,  $10,000 richer,  in Irons' Lincoln Chrysler sedan; its inky sleekness oozing class and  

elegant sophistication.  

…"Yes, Father, we'll clash one day, but until then,……" Ian mentally deducted items from the dwindling laundry list while humming his rendition of a classic B.B. King tune, glancing ever upward as Irons' personal Learjet thundered off into the now sunny distance:

                                        ……'_The thumb has gone,…… the thumb has gone away'……………_      

****This ends chapter one.  Please review and whip out the red pens.  It's the only way to learn…

(Now I'm off to crank off another chapter and figure out how to post it so the margin words aren't chewed


	2. Rack 'em Up

Title:  Thanksgiving

Rating:  Same

Author: Madame Hausfrau

Legal:  Same

Chapter 2  

Vorshlag Industries stood helpless- its rapid blood loss acutely evident as its precious human resource volume steadily bled onto the crowded streets below.  The many corridors, already darkened and silent, reluctantly swept remaining employees toward groaning elevators and thundering stairwells. Each  person ran for the front entrances in droves - the proverbial border; rushing off  to further plan, shop and prepare for upcoming festivities.  The only hangers–on included temporary staff, die-hard workaholics, non-celebrants, those without families, and one resident dragon.  

Well ensconced within the confines of his modestly furnished office, said dragon could be found completing his annual Security Report for Vorshlag Industries.  Covering the obligatory SOP, employee bios, patents, patents pending and highly guarded research updates on various bio-medical projects, Ian's North American snapshot gave Irons the ability to comparatively gauge Vorshlag's physical security measures with those implemented globally.  Expertly navigating through an Excel program, Ian created graphs, charts and finally a Powerpoint presentation. 

Nearing the finish line, Ian typed with increased fervor; his long, tapered fingers dancing along the PC keyboard with precise, steady movements.  The rudimentary clicking, an electronic concerto, provided music amid a most welcome silence.  This very quest for solitude made foregoing the jump into Irons' clerical pool quite easy.  A final tap signaled the end as he happily laid this critical report to rest.     

Whistling with relief, Ian pushed away from his desk and glanced out the large curtained window, his thoughts his own.  Glancing at the time, he had over thirty minutes before his appointment.  Further collecting his thoughts, Ian shut down his office, deposited the hard-copy documents into Irons' office safe and promptly left the building.  Unbeknownst to Irons, his laundry list was prematurely completed by several days.  Ian now worked his own.  Enroute to his destination, Ian set his covert plan to motion, placing a few important calls -all decidedly one way:

"Hello, Cassie, about the detailed matter discussed earlier, please proceed as planned to include my detailed specifics. Happy Holidays to you and yours…"

"Recordings…recordings…" Ian whispered softly as he auto-dialed his next contact.

"Hello, Sheridan, Ian smiled into his phone. "It's me again. This mission's a go, drive on as ordered and all inquiries are extremely classified. Happy Holidays."

"That's affirm, Mr. Nottingham, same to you."  With that, she broke transmission. 

"Roger that." Ian breathed as he steered his sleek black Jaguar around a sharp corner and onto a remote service road, dialing again when safe.  

"Hello, Mr. Johansen, this is Mr. Nottingham.  Listen, about that favor ……………………….."

*********************************  

Ian's demeanor instantly sobered as he reached his appointed destination, a remote, nondescript watering hole.  Circling and observing the immediate perimeter, he parked a block away and walked into the tavern, eyes alert and roving.  Immediately locking onto his target, Ian advanced warily as his summoner slowly stood.  The pair openly regarded each other for long moments, struggling for composure as warring emotions vied for dominance across their expressive faces. 

Realizing they each were bit pawns fighting within an arena of circumstances, not of their making nor control, the pair finally shook hands - sharing a crushing embrace as each heartily thumped the other's back.  Snagging a nearly waitress, the pair ordered draft beers and shot several rounds of pool.  Further settling down to chips & salsa – they talked for hours.

Much later, Ian rose and stretched to depart for other errands, noting the growing darkness and tangible drop in temperature.  Ian quizzed his summoner for the last time, filled with mirth as his lucky streak held fast.  In a relaxed mood, the summoner occasionally smiled while responding to Ian's quizzing and demand for penance, which was warmly agreed to, if within reason.  Questions asked and answered, Ian smiled, passed his summoner an envelope marked "Penance," and left with a polite nod.  The envelope was soon opened to reveal a detailed list of instructions, directions, and generous funds to cover everything asked for…including gas / incidentals.  Beaming at Nottingham's thoughtfulness, the summoner studied the given tasks, bundled up against the cold, then departed.

Once again within the confines of his idling car, Nottingham mused over the last few hours …'_That went extremely well.' _  Suddenly, he repeated a call only to be met again with a busy signal.  "Oh, well…." Ian grinned mischievously as he pulled away from the curve and towards the distant expressway.

*************************

Gabriel Bowman was an extremely happy camper.  Having just cataloged Talismaniac's entire shop inventory to CD, Godsmak's, '_Stand Alone_', loudly heralded his latest acquisition of two Romanov Faberge' Eggs.

Closed all-day, a sudden knock at the door gave him pause. Turning his stereo down, Gabe opened the door and visibly blanched, nearly wetting his pants as he gazed upon the face he dread most.  Sensing the younger man's visible alarm, Ian smoothly assumed a servile posture and proceeded to play his decidedly paltry hand - against this important, pivotal house of cards:

"Mr. Bowman, a moment of your time if I may," Nottingham inquired with polite and quiet seriousness.

Thoroughly shocked, Gabriel's mind ran a mile a minute as he thought, '_Holy shit, Nottingham's asking for my time…this must be deep!'_

"Nottingham!"  Gabriel said, willing himself to be hospitable and not stammer, "Please, come in." and further gestured his worst nightmare, inside the shop.

"Mr. Bowman," Ian began.  "Please," Gabe interrupted, "Call me Gabriel."  With that, Ian laid his cards on the table with a fervent prayer:

"Gabriel, are you busy for the next two days or otherwise engaged?"  Ian asked with rapid-fire directness…hoping against hope with baited breath.  

"Well," Gabriel started warily, " I volunteer at the mission tomorrow for a few hours…besides that, I've no plans and am quite game."

Ian glanced at the ceiling, arms akimbo, digesting the welcome information with relish- mentally thanking heaven for his royal flush. 

"Good!" Ian said, before quickly adding instructions, "Grab a nice outfit, personal gear, shave kit, work clothes and follow me. You've 15 minutes. Go!"      

Thoroughly puzzled and too scared to demand answers, Gabriel jetted off to make his allotted time….'_Remember those days…'_ Ian smiled to himself as he filtered through Gabe's CD collection and carefully examined several acquisitions of interest, while bobbing his head to Disturb's _'Prayer', _as it raged throughout the eclectic shop.  Quickly returning, Gabe pronounced himself ready, valise in tow.  Ian watched as Gabe flicked off lights and activated the intricate alarm system.  Fully secured, both men left the store, braving the brisk night air to shortly arrive at Ian's car.

Apprehension and curiosity at a fever pitch, Gabriel asked the million-dollar question, "Um, Nottingham………what gives?"

In a matter-of-fact tone, Ian voiced his thoughts: "Sara's having Thanksgiving…"

Stunned, Gabe blurted the first thing that came to his mind, "Sara's cooking?" still staring at Ian, mouth agape and incredulous.    

"Lady Sara," Ian explained, "is having dinner at her place. She just doesn't.… know it yet.  Yes, it's presumptuous on my part, but I think being around friends and ....acquaintances would do her good- especially during the holidays," he reasoned.  "You understand, don't you? " Ian said, looking at his passenger.

"Indeed I do." Gabriel nodded, carefully studying Ian for as long as he dared, but not before developing a multi-leveled, ocean-deep respect in the process.   

"You know, Nottingham," Gabe confessed, "For a dragon, you're not such a totalbadass after all……just one with a heart of gold."

Nottingham closed his eyes and absorbed the sincere compliment with a few thoughtful nods... '_On a good day, young Bowman,…only on a good day_.' 

"_Nice Jag_." Gabriel noted, surveying the plush leather interior as Ian smoothly stopped at an empty intersection, noting the not-too-silent challenge of an engine-gunning motorist the next lane over.  Accepting, Ian shifted expertly and floored his accelerator when the light changed, the sudden launch nearly sending Gabe's head out the back window.  Challenger faithfully at his side, Ian impulsively cut in front and shifted again, grazing another empty intersection just as the light turned red for his opponent, watching as Nottingham victoriously sped off into the dark distance - fast and furious. 

Quickly downshifting to normal parameters, Ian drove as if nothing took place moments before.  Gabriel however, immediately took on a kid brother stance and admonished Ian by playfully bellowing: "OOOOOH, I'M GONNA TELL  MAMA!!"  Gabe was instantly gifted with Nottingham's roaring laughter, so much so, Ian ended up pulling over where he further collapsed and dissolved into the steering wheel.  Shocked at having invoked such a response, Gabe thought of the irony.  '_Who on earth would believe that Ian Nottingham, world class assassin and  bodyguardish soldier-of-fortune,  would be sitting in his car cracking-the-hell up like a  comedian.'  _Ian's dormant laughter was so repressed and genuine, Gabe couldn't help but join in, losing it totally on short order.  

Moments later, thoroughly composed yet embarrassed, Ian apologized profusely, "I'm sorry….that doesn't occur very often." 

"So I gathered." Gabe nodded seriously, before giggling maniacally, taking Ian with him yet again. 

I*********************

Across town, the 37th Precinct was abuzz with activity as the holiday season began its kick-off, quickly taking on festive, decorative shape. 

"Well, my cab's here.  Pez, you behave yourselves while I'm gone," said Jake.  "You brave this NY cold alone if you want to- California's the place to be!….

Just think, I'll come back all rested with a righteous tan, all bronzed and tawny."…………………….'A_nd a legend in your own mind._' Sara thought.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, McCartey, just rub it in why don't you."  Sara quipped, nursing her third cup of coffee that morning. "Don't you have a plane to catch?"

Sara Pezzini woke-up this Tuesday morning in the foulest of moods.  She dreaded the holidays and resolved to work through them all.  On edge, she playfully mussed Jake's spiky hair while quickly ushering him out the door, craving a moment's solitude from the abysmal riptide that threatened to drag her under.  She found herself not wanting to surface from this all encompassing aloneness- it was her friend. '_Jeez, if this is just Tuesday, what's on tap for Thursday?' _

Sara ventured to herself, '_Work…work…work!  That's the ticket to saving my sanity._'  Wistfully, she thought of her chat with Danny only hours earlier:

"Pez, this is hard for me……God knows I'd love to have you over for Thanksgiving, but Lee wouldn't feel………Pez, you understand, don't you?" 

_Danny gave Sara a pleading look, imploring her to understand his helpless situation.  Sara wistfully smiled at her friend and partner of many years:_

_"Danny," Sara smiled, "It's ok. I understand completely," placing her hands on his suddenly stooped shoulders with a firm shake. "Do me a favor." _

_"Anything, Pez.  Name it."  Danny offered.  With a sigh, Sara looked at him with all seriousness and resolve and said simply:  "Go home, Danny.  Go home to your family and friends who love you.  Hug them tight and be thankful for everything- the past, present and future. Do that for me, partner_."    

With a nod, Danny croaked, "I will Pez, and take care," Danny whispered.  The duo cheerfully grinned again before hugging goodbye……………  

************

"Hello, Ma'am, I'm looking for a Ms. Sara Pezzini.

The woman in question looked up from her window reverie to see a handsome gentleman dressed in a dark, snow-flaked wool overcoat. 

 "You're looking at her,"  Sara said as she waived him into the office. "Please sign here," The man requested.  Non-social and somewhat puzzled, Sara obeyed.  

With a shy smile and reverent bow, he quietly disappeared.  Sara glanced at the unassuming envelope, tossing it onto her desk where it quickly dissolved amongst a sea of surrounding papers.  Sara embraced Tuesday and her self-imposed holiday workload like a long lost lover, determined to remain emotionally numb until Thursday evening, 11:59 p.m.           

"Sara!" a voice excitedly squeaked, "SARA!"  

Thoroughly irritated at being disturbed again, Pez ground out a guttural "WHAT?" 

Sublimely unfazed, Vicki Po did a happy-dance while waving a sheet of paper in the air.  

"Yes?" Sara's voice politely dripped venom as she placed yet another case file in her slowly growing "closed" pile.       

 Knowledgeable of Sara's plight but undaunted, Vicki politely explained, "Some gorgeous courier just dropped this off…"  

"You too?" Sara inquired with disinterest.   

"I got_ his_ number but we have a date."  A smiling Vicki said, smiling while pointing in Sara's direction.  

"Sorry, girlfriend, not interested," Sara moped before adding, "I love you Vic but please turn around and disappear until Friday."

"Oh no, my turkey flavored grinch, we've a date," Po rallied, "I just received generous gift certificates from _Victoria's Secret_ and _Ann Taylor-_ they expire today!" 

Sara fished her missive from her pile and opened it.  Nonplussed but intrigued, she waived matching coupons at Vicki, "Yeah, I guess…we do."   

*************************

Within the warm interior of Vicki's late-model Toyota, Sara glumly realized her agenda was shot.  Destroyed were her plans of working, hitting the gym and jogging home, to shower, leftover take-out and sleep.  For a split second, Sara regretted the decision of placing her Buell in winter storage.  Uncomfortable   with dependency of any kind, and craving space, she quickly formulated a plan by saying:

"Ya know, Vic, after this 'shopping spree,' I'll catch a cab back to the office and close up some more case files.  I'm sure you'll be busy running errands and stuff before Thursday.  I don't wish to hold you up."  Sara ventured, shocked at her suddenly curiosity of Vicki's holiday plans.

A humming Vicki stepped in, "Truth be told, Sara, I don't have any plans since the bulk of my family gathers every other year in Ontario.  I'm officially off until 

Friday and plan to quietly celebrate at a restaurant somewhere."  Unable to resist she added, "What about you Sara, care to join me?"

"I plan on working through Wednesday and spending a quiet Thanksgiving at home; alone, asleep and quite possibly drunk," Sara offered.  

Seriously? Vicki inquired.

Sara confirmed her question with a determined "Uh-huh." 

"Hmmmmmmm, ok." Vicki sighed as she looked for a parking spot in _Bloomingdale's_ cavernous garage.

************************

Locking up, the pair quickly ran the gauntlet of harried shoppers as they entered the flagship store.  Sara noted the cheery but rampant holiday décor as she kept pace with Vicki's long, enthusiastic strides, bravely swallowing the urge to chicken and bow out.  Reaching their destination, Vicki suddenly chortled:

"Oh Sara, look…" Vicki said, patting Sara's shoulder, "I'm in heaven!  Please pinch me, I must be dreaming." she further gushed. Gleefully, Sara fastened her fingers to Vicki's arm and obeyed with vicious pleasure.  Courier aside, Sara thought it apt punishment for being dragged here in the first place – until she finally looked up.  Suddenly, she felt game, remembering a quote somewhere about presentation being everything. 

With a Pied Piper's cunning, the _Victoria's Secret _glass storefront expertly beckoned potential shoppers much like flies to honey, its window mannequins tastefully showcased the latest in soft, sensual, intimate apparel.  Inside, Vicki and Sara spied traditional functionals, a wide variety of loungewear, and specialty foundations designed to both flatter ones figure and outfit.  For the more daring consumer, racks of thongs, stockings and nocturnal unmentionables lay before all in enticing arrays.  The air-assault of signature fragrances, bath oils, lotions and perfumes provided scentual wars as customers mock-modeled romantic lingerie, marveling their soft look and feel.  Caught up in the reverie, the duo browsed, perused, sampled and selected to their hearts content.  Mindful of the time, they presented their selections at the register, collected their goodies and left.

"Feeling better?" A knowing Vicki inquired, sorely relieved to finally see Sara grunt slightly, her mood elevating by millimeters.  Expertly navigating her way around, Vicki now steered her gloomy, anti-holiday friend and colleague through the ever growing throngs of shoppers to safely arrive at their next destination.    

Inside, they were met with an attentively polite wait staff.  Known for her clean, elegantly crisp lines and realistic styles, _Ann Taylor _was the discriminating shopper's friend.  Sara, mostly a wash-and-wear kind of girl, tried on several versatile outfits before choosing a few she liked.  Both dressy and casually chic,

the ensembles softly flattered Sara's figure, accentuating her curves.  Not one for handbags, she settled on a glock-friendly cocktail purse, pashima wool wraps, gossamer silk scarves and a warm, dressy cashmere coat/hat/glove set.  Vicki, always possessing an eye for fashion, effortlessly selected several high-end outfits and accessories that seemingly draped her equally lush curves with abandon.  As a State Medical Examiner for New York, Vicki wanted her off-duty apparel to celebrate life, freedom, independence and a spirited confidence. 

Presenting their certificates at the register, the women were happy, tired, sore and dreading the burdensome return trip to Vicki's car.  Silently thanking their mysterious benefactor, the duo possessively stared at their hoard of newly acquired booty; extremely pleased with having selected, throughout the day, apparel that reflected their personal tastes and comfort level.   With an imperceptible nod of her auburn-hued head, Cassie Wentworth set off but one carefully orchestrated chain of events. Out of nowhere, two dark suited gentlemen appeared and addressed themselves to the unsuspecting pair with polite seriousness:

"Good afternoon, Ms. Pezzini, Ms. Po," The taller man acknowledged, whipping out his ID for Sara and Vicki's close perusal.  "My name is Mr. Johansen and this is my associate, Mr. Bellini." he gestured.  Bellini politely nodded his head in greeting, "Ladies," he addressed before smartly presenting his ID as well.

Her curiosity piqued, Sara inquired, "Gentlemen, what's all this about?  Is anything the matter?"  With that prompt, each man handed the women personalized letters and distanced themselves, providing the women with privacy as they each examined the embellished, official-looking documents- patiently waiting for the enclosed information to sink in…………...  

Speechless, Vicki suddenly yelped and held an embarrassed, shaking hand over her mouth, desperately staring at the men for some kind of clarification.  Sara Puzzling simply stared at the men with a NYC detective's candor and said, "C'mon and cut the bull guys, you've GOT to be kidding!"…………

*********This marks the end of Chapter 2.  Please review and let me know what you think.  I'm working on Chapter 3.           


	3. Author's Note

AUTHOR'S NOTE: DEC '03  
  
DEAR WITCHBLADE FAMILY,  
  
Hello. I've recently returned from my one year tour of duty overseas and it's great to be back home! However, having heeded the call, I would readily do so again if asked. I started working on this fanfic before deployment. If anyone's interested, I'd like to attempt to cross the finish line. I'll work on the uploading for a more polished appearance. Please let me know yea or nay...and keep the tips & suggestions coming.  
  
TANKS!  
  
-Mme. Hausfrau  
  
PS: I gather TNT never came to their senses yet. Pity. My New Years resolution consists of a few wishes; one being that The Gauntlet somehow be picked up. 


	4. Say What!

TITLE: Thanksgiving AUTHOR: Madame Hausfrau RATING: PG-13 LEGAL: 'Witchblade' is the property of Top Cow and Warner Brothers Productions SUMMARY: Two months after 'Consectato', everyone regroups to reflect on what really matters. A/N: RL blazes along – Permit me to slowly plug away until done. **************************************************************************** ****  
  
"C'mon guys, you heard me, come clean..." Sara Pezzini waited patiently for an explanation while Mr. Johansen regarded his associate, Mr. Bellini with a slightly panicked look. Nearby, a thoroughly intrigued Vicki Po pretended to be calm, but hung onto the impending announcement, much like a high school cheerleader awaiting tryout results.  
  
Sensing her healthy skepticism, Mr. Johansen smoothly paved Sara's confusion with a few flourishes from his expertly manicured hands. "Let me assure you Ms. Pezzini, your documents and those of Ms. Po are quite legitimate and so most official." Mr. Bellini blanched slightly at his associate's rare but occasional use of urban colloquialism.  
  
"Okaaaay," Sara stated warily while thoughtfully nodding her head. "Would you please run this by us again."  
  
"Certainly, Ms. Pezzini," Mr. Johansen responded. "In summary, you and Ms. Po are the recipients of an all exclusive two Day spa extravaganza courtesy of the Waldorf Astoria. In addition, you and Ms. Po will reside in choice accommodations located in the upper Waldorf Towers..."  
  
"Serious? This isn't a huge practical joke?" Sara inquired. Mr. Johansen and Mr. Bellini simply shook their heads. "No...'Girls Behaving Badly' scenario? No Candid Camera gag?" Sara ventured. Both men simply shook their heads again. "You guys are pulling our chains right?" Sara was then decidedly quiet, warily digesting her information with blatant disbelief. Vicki, meanwhile, slowly closed her still gaping mouth, licking her suddenly parched lips with nervous anticipation.  
  
"In a few moments," Mr. Bellini continued, " you and Ms. Po will be escorted to The Astoria by our executive VIP car. In addition, transportation will be available at your disposal 24 hrs a day. All meals will be personally prepared by any number of our exclusive 5 star culinary artists. If at any time you desire to stroll afoot, Paolo and Stefan will discreetly provide security escort.  
  
"M-M- My car!..." Vicki stammered. "Ah, yes," Mr. Johansen stated, smiling sweetly as he swiftly obtained Vicki's keys and vehicle information. Looking up, he suddenly beckoned toward his newly arrived VIP drivers as they graced the store entranceway. The handsome, curly haired, well-dressed duo were simply lady- killers. Upon introductions, both women silently admired the twins' sparkling eyes, which were cast in Paul- Newman blue. Observant by nature and a die-hard movie- buff, Vicki immediately realized the striking resemblance to Chris Atkins, who played opposite Brooke Shields in 'The Blue Lagoon'. Sara, however discreetly moved back a step; half expecting their faces to implode due to their crater sized dimples. Introductions aside, the quartet slowly made for the store exit.  
  
"But how?.....Why?.....What? ...When?....Where?....Who?" Sara stammered, verbally racking her brains for answers. "Who cares! Let's just DO this!" Vicki bubbled as she firmly steered an unbelieving Sara toward the store exit, complete with their towheaded, baggage laden help. Dragging her feet, Sara hazarded a final parting glance at the two business partners, raising questioning eyebrows yet again for affirmation; shyly smiling as they furiously nodded their heads in the affirmative – head banger style.  
  
**********  
  
"Ladies, please bundle up tight – it's quite cold outside." said Matthew, as he re-fastened his dark wool overcoat against the elements before sliding behind the wheel of the heated vehicle, expertly manning its console panel. "Ladies, please excuse my older brother. He's been a Mother Hen since day one!" said Martin, as he helped settle both women inside the sleek stretch limo. Smartly pulling into traffic, Matthew explained the rear compartment findings to Sara while Vicki struck up a conversation with his bubbly, dimple cheeked double. After several minutes, unbeknownst to Martin, Vicki was just about to reach out and touch a shiny lock of his hair when a voice of reason came within earshot:  
  
"Easy Vic, he still rides a Big Wheel," Sara teasingly whispered before adding,"Remember, fifteen will get you twenty!"  
  
Sarah smiled for the second time that evening as Vicki playfully feigned shock and plead her case, "Can a girl at least cop a tiny feel?" Crossing her arms, Sara responded with her legendary smirk. Bold & darkly dramatic, her left eyebrow shot up, heralding its patented gesture that screamed "'No!' " After a minute, Sara softened up and both women giggled as they traveled through the familiar streets of New York – enroute to the unknown.  
  
********************  
  
Back at the Ann Taylor flagship store, Mr. Fredric Johansen and Mr. Eduardo Bellini thanked Ms.Cassie Winthrop and her associate staff for their invaluable assistance. Upon leaving, Eduardo regarded his longtime business associate with a sigh, "Tough crowd tonight, eh?" "Dude", Fredrik smiled, "No doubt!"  
  
-TBC 


End file.
